Real
by findtheriver
Summary: Amelia Pond's aunt has organised a meeting for her with a second psychiatrist, in order to get to the bottom of the mystery of the 'Raggedy Doctor'. References to 'The Eleventh Hour'. Short oneshot.


_**Disclaimer: Amelia Pond and the 'Raggedy Doctor', plus other aspects of plot from 'The Eleventh Hour', are all the ideas of the Doctor Who writing team**_

_**AUTHOR NOTE:**_

**I watched 'The Eleventh Hour' this morning, and it inspired me to write this. It's one of Amy Pond's childhood meetings with a psychiatrist, as I imagine it. It's a fairly short oneshot, and is not particularly good. I only wrote it this morning, so constructive criticism is welcome, and I may take it off in order to edit then repost it.**

**Enjoy :)  
**

"Amelia," Dr Wood began, "Do you have any idea why you're here, sweetheart?"

Amelia looked up at the woman, scowling. The doctor was probably in her late forties, and had blond hair that was scraped back into a neat bun. Her makeup was a little too heavy, and she wore a black skirt and purple blouse. Deciding that this woman was no better than the last one, Amelia shook her head, still scowling.

"Sweetheart," she said, "This isn't the first time your aunt has taken you to see someone like me is it? You do know why. Why don't you talk to me about your imaginary friend I've been told all about?"

"He is not imaginary." Amelia said, narrowing her eyes. "He's real."

"Well, love, why don't you tell me what he's like?"

At first the eight year old didn't say anything, and instead just sat there frowning in silence.

"Go on, poppet," Dr Wood said patronisingly, "Don't be afraid of me."

"I'm not scared. I'm not scared of you."

"Then tell me about him. Tell me about," she glanced down at her notes, "Your 'raggedy doctor'."

"You won't believe me. The last one didn't."

"I promise I'll believe you. Come on, sweetheart, I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"You won't be able to help anyway. He's gone. He promised me five minutes."

"What did he promise you, Amelia? I'm not following you."

"The Doctor. He came in, and tried all my food. I gave him apples, and yoghurt, and fried him bacon. We cooked beans, and buttered bread. He hated it all; thought all of it was disgusting. He then," Amelia was telling the story animatedly, and couldn't stop herself from laughing, "went into the fridge, and picked out some custard. He picked out fish fingers from the freezer. And," she giggled, "ate them together. Fish custard. It was his favourite."

Dr Wood wrote down everything Amelia was saying, and prompted her to continue with a nod of the head.

"The he said that if I wasn't scared of him, then it must be one hell of a scary crack in my wall. And I –"

"The crack in your wall?" Dr Wood interrupted.

"Yes," Amelia said as if it was obvious, "There's a crack in my wall."

"But, sweetheart, how can a crack in a wall be scary?"

Amelia considered her answer carefully. She knew that mentioning the voice would be a bad idea. Instead, she simply shrugged, and carried on talking about the Doctor.

"And I showed him the crack in my wall. And…" Amelia trailed off, once again unsure of what to say without sounding mad.

"And?"

"And he ran his finger along it, and then told me some stuff and -"

Dr Wood interrupted again. "Stuff?"

"Yes. Stuff." Amelia insisted, a steely glare returning to her eyes.

Realising it was better to leave it at that, Dr Wood nodded, "Carry on, Amelia."

"Then he went downstairs, and outside. He went back to his box. It was blue, and it seemed to be broken or something. He said he needed to take it somewhere in order for it to fix, and promised he'd be back in five minutes. So off he went. And I ran upstairs, and packed my suitcase. I went back outside after, and just waited. And waited. And he never came back."

Amelia was no longer glaring; instead she had a sad look on her face. The doctor stared at the eight year old, unsure what to make of what she had just been told. In her eyes, there was no way that any of what had just been said had ever actually happened to Amelia. The problem was that Amelia was insistent everything was real, and telling her otherwise would end in tears.

"Amelia," she began, "I wonder if you would mind telling me what this man looked like."

"He was quite tall, with messy brown hair. His clothes were raggedy. They were all torn."

Dr Wood looked down at her notes. The description matched the one she had given the last psychiatrist, and matched all the photographs her aunt had taken of the many models and dolls Amelia had made, and the many pictures and cartoon strips she had drawn out. It all pointed towards an imaginary friend, one that Amelia was very fond of. She could see why it worried her aunt; at eight, most children have already given up on fantasies. There was nothing wrong with Amelia - that much was clear. She just had a vivid imagination, and a childish mind. The doctor wrote this all down, and stood up.

"You think the same as the last woman did."

"What, darling?" Dr Wood said, confused.

"She didn't think he was real either."

"I never said that."

"No, but I can see you think that."

"Look," the doctor knelt down at Amelia's feet, and put a hand on her shoulder, "I just think that you need to realise that this is all in your imagination. It's perfectly normal to – OUCH!" Dr Wood let out a cry of pain and withdrew her hand; Amelia had bitten her.

**It's not great, I know, so reviews are welcomed with open arms.**

**amsii xxx  
**


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